


An Invitation to Celibacy

by froggy (therealfroggy)



Series: The Pornish Adventures of Tabruzzi [5]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/froggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A communication from Fish brings back memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Invitation to Celibacy

Theodore turned on the computer. John was in the grocery store next door, getting some more supplies, and the Alabamian had decided to check out that website the Pretty had told them about before they left; europeangoldfinch.net. He was curious about what the others had been up to while they were apart.

Well, he was curious about what the Pretty and his family had been up to. He couldn't care less about Señorita Sucre and Eight Ball.

There was a message board. He scrolled down. There was a topic with the header “Whazzup?”. It was signed SinkMan, and he read it.

_Hey guys,  
how's it going! We're doing great; Junior's taken up windsurfing and me and Fish got some business plans cooking. How about you?_

Theodore grinned. SinkMan, eh? It was apparent they found it safer to use code names. He scrolled down and found replies from RodeoHater and LatinoDad. The former reported that he and his kid were building snow castles, and the name led Theodore to laughingly conclude it was Eight Ball writing. The latter had to be Sucre; Theodore remembered he had a kid on the way.

Grinning evilly, he began typing a reply, signing it with SergeantSodomy (to keep with the nickname fashion).

_I'm doing mighty fine myself, Sink; MisterMafia and I are fraternizing on a daily basis and enjoying the climate. We might actually see a European finch, if we cared. I could say we miss you, but that would only apply to Fish and Junior's fine tails._

He searched the site for other messages from the boys, and found one right at the top. It was from LatinoDad.

_Guys, it's official. I'm a father!  
Her name is Valencia, and she's going to be christened on Sunday the 31st. You're all invited; reply to this for directions.  
But hey, ass riders! You ain't coming here unless you swear not to fraternize at all while you're here!_

The other customers in the internet café gave him looks of annoyance when he began laughing loudly.

***

“Oh, c'mon, John; wouldn't it be fun to see the kid again?”

“Then we can go visit the happy family wherever they're living. I'm not spending a week in celibacy just because Sucre's having his daughter baptised.”

“Ya honestly wouldn't sacrifice a week with me for that?” Theodore laughed, slowly stroking himself. He and John were naked, they were lounging in the grass outside their tent, and the murderer was determined to have his way.

“I wouldn't sacrifice a week of sex for that,” John corrected. “We all know you and I are undiagnosed nymphomaniacs; going there to meet up with Burrows and Scofield and the kid would only result in... what did they call it? Ass rodeos?”

Theodore laughed, and the other man joined him with a gruff chuckle.

“What if we, uh, compensated for the lack of sex in advance, like?” the smaller man purred, stroking himself again. “I could get real... inventive.”

John groaned and reached out for the other man, pulling him closer. “No. But get on your back.”

“What if we shortened the visit to three days? I'd suck your cock before we left the car, an' let ya fuck me the second we got back in it,” Theodore grinned, rolling over to let the taller man hover above him. “An' I'd give ya a nice story time every evenin'.”

“Depends on the story,” John said, looking down at the thin man beneath him. “Care to give me a preview?”

“Start fuckin' me, an' I will,” was the coy reply.

With a growl, John began pushing into the Alabamian, feeling tight skin resist before yielding.

“Where's the lube, Teddy?” John panted, knowing the smaller man was unprepared by the way he whimpered.

“Tent,” Theodore panted, writhing on the ground. “Fuck, John, hard!”

John Abruzzi pushed hard, thrusting into the willing body with more force than strictly necessary. Theodore Bagwell screamed and grabbed the taller man's shoulders, arching into every inch of skin.

“Talk,” he demanded, withdrawing before thrusting back in. “Tell me a story.” Then he stilled, motionless inside the murderer, because he knew the other man would be rendered inarticulate the second he felt a cock hit his prostate.

Theodore swallowed heavily before he spoke. “I'd tell ya... tell ya 'bout all the thangs I'd do to ya once we got back. I'd tell ya in detail 'bout how I'd get on my knees, how I'd bend over for ya, an' I'd tell ya that I'm your bitch, John. Ya remember that, don't ya?”

John gave a growl in the affirmative, rolling his hips once. Theodore keened with need.

“John,” he panted, “I know ya love to hear it. I'd tell ya every night, jus' before goin' to bed, that I'm your bitch. I'd take your pocket out an' tug on it, too. In front of Sucre an' Eight Ball.”

John didn't need to hear any more. “Fine,” he panted. “Fine, whatever you want, we'll go see the others, I don't care.”

Theodore moaned loudly and oh-so-indecently as the mobster went to work, thrusting harder, steadying himself on his hands to either side of the other man's head. “Jooohn...”

“Keep moaning, Teddy,” John growled, leaning down to bite at the side of Theodore's neck. “Moan for me.”

“John Boi, I'm your bitch.” The Alabamian's voice was lustful and heated; he clutched at the taller man's hips and spread his legs wider. “I'll be tuggin' on your pocket until ya kill me, 'cause... shit!”

Abruzzi had stilled again, but from Theodore's incredible grimace of disbelieving pleasure, he was pressed against the smaller man's prostate, this time.

“Continue, Teddy. Tell me why you're my bitch.”

Theodore tried, but the only sound he could make was a guttural one of pleasure. “Ngh!”

“Tell me!”

“'Cause I ain't never gonna find a lay as good as you,” Theodore finally forced out between his teeth, trying to smirk and failing when John kissed him hard.

Lips glued together, they resumed motion, hips grinding together and tongues sliding wetly around mouths.

John thought back to when he couldn't kiss Theodore like this; couldn't fuck him like this because it was too much like making love. But now Theodore – Teddy – was kissing him back, mewling into his mouth, begging for everything the taller man had to offer.

And it was so much better than making love ever had been.

“I want you to come for me, Teddy,” Abruzzi said, grinning into the other man's skin as his mouth found its own way to the murderer's shoulder. “I... Teddy, now!”

“Nngh,” Theodore replied, brow furrowing and mouth open. “Please!”

“Now,” came the gruff command, and a calloused hand closed around his straining erection. “Now!”

“John!”

That was it. John was coming, his back muscle clenching, his body straining into Theodore's. The smaller man was crying out, shouting John's name, begging him, and John couldn't take it any more. He came, filling Theodore with wet need, pumping into him with a vengeance.

John kept fucking the other man through his own orgasm, panting and gasping for breath, until he felt himself slip from the tight body. Breathing heavily, he sank down on the other man, leaning their foreheads together.

“Very unlike ya, John,” Theodore panted, “comin' in my ass before I even got off.”

John looked up. “You didn't -”

“Oh, I did,” the Alabamian said, grinning. “Just not when ya told me to.”

“Bad boy,” John growled, rolling off the smaller man. “You come when I tell you to.”

“Nuh-uh, I come when ya fill me with your spunk,” was the reply. It mingled with laughter and John couldn't help but grin. Six months and the other man still hadn't learnt to talk nice after sex.

“Would it kill you to just say it was great sex and leave it alone?” he rumbled, lying down on his back.

“It was great sex, an' my ass is gonna be sore for days.”

“Your ass, your problem.”

“My ass, your problem; ya won't be fuckin' me if I still feel like this tomorrow.”

John raised himself up on his elbows. “Then I'll just be fucking your mouth instead, won't I?”

Theodore grinned and placed his hands behind his head, visibly relaxing. “I guess ya will.”


End file.
